


there's just something 'bout you i know

by graceless_wolf



Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Domesticity, Future Fic, M/M, domestic!sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2018-01-15 13:28:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1306567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graceless_wolf/pseuds/graceless_wolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>domestic!sterek. except they’re domestic without being domestic. except they’re totally being domestic. </p>
<p>just read it</p>
<p>trigger warnings: descriptions of food and cooking; slightly nsfw conversation and hinting at further shenanigans</p>
            </blockquote>





	there's just something 'bout you i know

He is _not_ living with Derek Hale.

 

Okay, so he stays there most nights – but Derek has the best library Stiles has ever _seen_. Deaton’s little bookshelf doesn’t even come _close_ to the knowledge Stiles is able to absorb in one night at Derek’s new apartment.

 

And maybe they sleep in the same bed sometimes but that’s only because Stiles is a mover when he’s sleeping, but Derek’s new king sized bed is pushed up against the wall. Therefore, when Stiles has the wall on one side and Derek on the other, there’s not as much of a risk when he starts to shift in his sleep.

 

And maybe there’s only one loofa in their—no _, Derek’s_ shower, but that’s because Derek is totally deprived and Stiles introduced him to the wonders of high quality bath amenities. It’s Derek’s loofa, but Stiles has joint custody because he bought it.

 

And okay, so his dad has turned his room into a home office now that he’s running that private detective agency and Stiles is…

 

Stiles is never home anyways because he maybe possibly is totally living with Derek. It’s plausible.

 

\--

 

“Derek, I’m home,” Stiles calls, much louder than necessary purely for the satisfaction of hearing an annoyed werewolf bump into something. When your life is full of beings with supernaturally good hearing, and you have the power to abuse it, you do not miss any opportunity.

 

Derek walks down the stairs, and Stiles grins. The past few weeks, Derek’s been working on putting up wall-shelves in the library/Stiles’ work room. That way, he can keep all his magic goodies in one place, and Derek doesn’t have to deal with there being hemlock and aconite in the spice cabinet. It’s a work in progress, but if it means Stiles comes home every day and Derek is sweaty and wearing minimal clothing then he is all for it. _Go team!_

 

It’s been a ridiculously long day, and he’s on his last nerve. But the apartment smells like home and safety and he can feel the wards reaching out to greet him. This place is ingrained with their magic. The walls are soundproof and werewolf-proof. Stiles can feel the energy of their little safe haven as soon as he sets foot in the building. This is the go-to place for Pack Night every week.

 

The world could be crashing down around him and Stiles would still feel safe in this apartment.

 

He drops his satchel on the floor, right next to the hooks by the door, and smiles as Derek sighs and picks it up. He presses a quick hello kiss to Derek’s cheek – and it’s not _weird_ , because he does it every day, and he’s kissed Scott on the mouth before so _shut up_ – and moves to the kitchen.

 

Derek follows him, hopping up to sit on the kitchen table. “What’s for dinner?”

 

Stiles smacks him upside the head as he walks to the fridge, “No dogs on the furniture. And I was thinking maybe white fish with that cilantro sauce you like so much and some cheesy asparagus?”

 

Derek makes a noise that definitely sounds like approval. Either that or he’s getting his brain sucked out through his dick. Stiles shakes it off, pulling out the things he needs for dinner.

 

“How was your day?” Derek asks from the table. At least he’s moved to a chair. Stiles shrugs helplessly as he begins to chop cilantro.

 

“Oh, you know,” he starts, annoyance creeping into his voice, “I showed up an hour late because I spilled coffee all over myself in the Jeep in the 7-11 parking lot, then Deaton gave me the good old responsibility lecture while Scott watched on helplessly. Then I got the _‘Deaton Only Wants the Best For You, Stiles’_ talk from Scott.

 

Then around noon I had to miss lunch because some old woman came in with an even older dog and Deaton made me take care of the check-up which took forever because, trust me, Pomeranians do _not_ age with grace.”

 

He adds the cilantro, garlic, lemon, and olive oil to the food processor. “After I cleaned all the bite marks, Deaton made me work on salves. I suck at salves. I hate salves. Beeswax is stupid and I never ever want to use anything made of beeswax ever again. We’re buying paraffin candles from now on and into eternity and you have no say in the matter because beeswax is _awful_.”

 

Derek is watching him worriedly, and Stiles rubs his temples frustratedly. “I need milk,” he mutters helplessly, “I can’t make the cheesy breading shit for the asparagus without milk.” The fridge doesn’t help him at all. He throws his hands up, “Why don’t we have any milk?!”

 

He slams his head against the edge of the fridge. “ _Ow_.”

 

Then Derek is maneuvering him away from the refrigerator and kicking the door shut.

 

“Come on,” he mutters, “Dinner can wait.”

 

Stiles doesn’t even protest as he’s manhandled up the stairs and into bed.

 

Derek pulls off his shoes and jeans before maneuvering him under the blankets. Then he sheds his own and slides in next to Stiles. Stiles who doesn’t speak, can’t speak because nothing about this day is going right, _nothing_ , but Derek is still trying to take care of him and make it better and Stiles feels like shit.

 

Because he can’t ever take care of Derek like this. He’s never sure if he’s crossing some invisible, unspoken barrier that Derek’s built after Paige or Kate or Jennifer. And he’s always so scared of crossing that line, of ruining whatever the fuck they have going on here. Because nothing has ever stuck like Derek sticks; like Derek’s been sticking for the past three years.

 

Still, he curls into Derek’s side when Derek offers because he doesn’t know how not to. Derek presses his face into Stiles’ hair and rubs circles between his shoulder blades. Stiles shoves his cold toes against Derek’s calves and sighs, relaxing into the mattress.

 

“What are we doing?” Stiles murmurs, fingers clutching Derek’s hips like he’s a lifeline. It feels like he is. It feels like they’ve been together for so long that Stiles can’t even remember a part of his life that hasn’t been influenced by Derek somehow, even though they’ve only known each other for six years. They’ve been living together for half that time. It feels like if Derek pulls away now, he’ll get caught in a current without a life raft. It feels terrifying and wonderful and brilliant and nerve-wracking and familiar all at once.

 

Derek chuckles into his hair, “I would’ve thought you’d have figured it out by now.”

 

Stiles pulls back, narrowing his eyes at Derek, “What’s that mean? What do you know that I don’t?”

 

“I only meant,” Derek says, resting his forehead against Stiles’, “I only meant that you—you are a helluva lot smarter than I am. I can’t believe you haven’t figured it out yet.”

 

“Figured what out?” Stiles gapes, exasperated, “I mean, I get it that you’re a dark, brooding, mystical being who needs secrets and hidden layers like some kind of onion with glowing blue eyes and fangs but I am a human and I can’t tell what my freaking day is going to be like. How am I supposed to know what’s going on here? You do realize that we are like, the most unbelievably married pair of people in the universe and we aren’t even dating! We’re like…we’re like old married people, Derek! And I don’t even have the courage to tell you I love you yet! Derek Hale, why are you laughing at m—”

 

Derek is kissing him.

 

Holy shit, _Derek is kissing him_.

 

It takes him a second, but Stiles finally starts kissing back. He twists his hands in Derek’s hair and pulls him impossibly closer. It’s not clean; far from earth-shattering. But it’s warm and good and it feels right.

 

They’re lying in their bed in their home and they’re kissing and it is right and Stiles’ blood is practically singing. When Stiles remembers that he is still a human who needs to breathe, he pulls away.

 

“You know all my secrets,” Derek says. His eyes are dark and his voice is hoarse and Stiles doesn’t remember a time he’s ever looked more attractive. “You know all my stories, Stiles. And I’m not an onion, you ass.”

 

“Holy shit,” Stiles breathes. “You do realize we did this like, ass backwards, right?”

 

“Don’t care,” Derek grins, ducking his face into Stiles’ neck. “Love you.”

 

Stiles heart swells so much he can feel the love pouring into all his atoms, trying to make words out of this pure emotion that he’s swimming in. He settles for “I love you, too, you fucking nerd.”

 

“’M not the one with three lightsabers,” is Derek’s stinging rebuttal. It’s only slightly dulled by the fact that he totally has a hand down the back of Stiles’ pants right now.

 

“We should make dinner,” Stiles says, voice cutting off into a strangled noise as Derek grinds his hips into Stiles’.

 

Derek grins, pushing Stiles back into the mattress as he rolls on top of him. “I think we should have dessert first.”

 

“Oh my gods,” Stiles says, laughing through his arousal. “You’re such an ass.”

 

Derek swallows down his insult in a kiss. Stiles licks into his mouth but pulls back. He places a firm hand on Derek’s chest when Derek makes a frustrated noise.

 

“You’re sure?” Stiles asks, firmly but softly, “We don’t have to do anything, Derek. You don’t have to—I mean, I know your history.” Stiles winces at his wording, “None of which was your fault. I just want to make sure that, you know, you’re really okay with this.”

 

Derek laughs softly, “Stiles, if you were going to turn into some evil villain who wanted to kill me, I am almost positive that you would have done it already.”

 

Stiles swats his chest. “Seriously, Derek! I just, I want you to be sure. That I’m – that this is what you want.”

 

Derek’s face gets a lot more serious. “Yes, Stiles. I’m sure. I’m sure that you are it for me. I’m sure that I want to wake up every day and see you lying next to me. And I am 500% sure that right now, I want to fuck you into our mattress. If you’d want that, too.”

 

Stiles groans, “Gods, Derek, you can’t just _say_ shit like that.”

 

Derek smirks, bright eyed and soft around the edges.

 

“So,” Stiles says, shifting to wrap his arms around Derek’s neck, “Dessert?”

**Author's Note:**

> a quick fic from a prompt on tumblr
> 
> as always, im on tumblr @cptnkirrk


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